


Our Future

by HMSquared



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Anger, Competition, First Kiss, M/M, Making Out, Pining, Post-Canon, Public Display of Affection, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25081978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSquared/pseuds/HMSquared
Summary: The Tournament of Champions is a night of learning for Sledge.
Relationships: Mike "Thatcher" Baker/Seamus "Sledge" Cowden
Kudos: 13





	Our Future

**Author's Note:**

> This was all inspired by that one moment where Sledge had his arm around Thatcher’s shoulder.
> 
> Enjoy!

Looking back, Seamus couldn’t believe it had actually happened. The mask he’d carved for himself finally broke, and nothing exploded.

He’d made it to the finals. The Tournament of Champions was designed to bring the operators together and improve. And now he was in the finals.

The day of, the man calling himself Sledge pulled out a photo. It was of him and Thatcher, right after their first real mission. The two men had clicked instantly, become the best of friends. Which seemed weird, considering their personalities. Sledge was more jovial and outwardly benevolent. Thatcher was gruff and opinionated. Yet somehow, it worked.

Dokkaebi looked his way and gave a friendly wave. She and Thatcher had become friends recently, which naturally extended to him. Sledge returned it and did one final test swing. He felt ready to go.

The crowd exploded as the two teams rushed onto the field. Mozzie sprinted around, pumping his fists into the air. Thatcher grinned and shook his head, gas mask back inside. Sledge was the only SAS member in full uniform today.

They pounded fists and got into position. Sledge flushed a bright pink, not that the others could tell. His partner looked handsome under the spotlight.

The klaxon blared and he swung. The wall crashed down and a firefight ensued.

Mozzie went down almost immediately and they split up. Sledge headed upstairs to scout and clear. The others continued shooting.

He heard a choking sound and a few thumps. The Scotsman slowed, hammer at the ready. But it wasn’t him. It was his headset.

“Hey, Cav!” A shot echoed downstairs. Sledge breathed a sigh of relief, wondering who had gotten her.

“Mike.” Dokkaebi’s voice.

“Grace.” And that was Thatcher, British as ever.

Soon it got down to the two SAS operators and Hibana. There was only one defender left, which should have made things easy. Hibana was moving to diffuse while Thatcher patrolled downstairs. Sledge remained on the upper floor, rounding corners with surprising speed.

“I’m coming upstairs!” Thatcher shouted through his headset. “Move to the bomb, I’ll-“ A gunshot cut him off. Sledge braked to a stop.

“Mike?” Hibana’s voice. There was nothing but silence and the Scotsman bit his tongue. He wanted to swear, wanted to break something. But it was only a simulation. It didn’t matter. Right?

Thirty seconds later, more gunshots came from his immediate right. Sledge busted through the wall, blood pumping. He was face to face with Pulse.

Anger surged through him. This was the man who had eliminated Thatcher. He shook his head and reared back, hammer in hand.

For two seconds, Sledge legitimately wanted to hurt him. He wanted to crack Pulse’s skull open and watch him bleed. But then two pellets hit his chest and he snapped out of it.

Both of Sledge’s shots missed. Then a third pellet connected with his forehead and he lost balance. Hibana kicked Pulse over and fired, eliminating the last defender.

The attackers rushed out of the building, cheering. Sledge rose his hammer in the air and grinned, his mask somewhere among the rubble. He didn’t care.

And there was Thatcher, wandering over with a tiny grin on his face. Relief filling him, Sledge chuckled,

“You’re not dead!”

“Neither are you.” As everyone else celebrated, the Scotsman reached out and wrapped an arm around his friend. Thatcher met his gaze, grinning that tiny grin.

Time seemed to slow. Chuckling, Sledge leaned over and pressed his nose against Thatcher’s cheek. Before either of them could speak, Harry walked onto the field.

“Congratulations to our first ever tournament champions!” Everyone cheered and in that moment, Sledge nearly kissed his best friend.

They were whisked inside for post-op interviews. Sledge and Thatcher sat next to each other, pretending the moment outside hadn’t occurred. The Englishman said he was from sanitation and the Scotsman rolled his eyes. They talked about the day and what would come next.

Everyone else was gone by the time they finished. As the cameramen left, Sledge put his weapons away and thought. His feelings had always been in the corner of his mind, begging to come out. Now he was finally talking to them.

Thatcher was loitering in the hallway. Sledge walked up to him, smiling. Without missing a beat, he closed the distance.

The kiss was firm. His eyes were closed, savoring the other man’s beard. Everything suddenly felt uncertain.

Thatcher broke the kiss. There was an unreadable expression on his face. Sledge’s heart fell ten stories and he winced, waiting to be yelled at.

“Enough of this shit.” He suddenly grabbed the Scotsman’s wrist and spun him around. Pressing him into the wall, Thatcher kissed him furiously. His tongue found corners of Sledge’s mouth he’d never explored. The world melted away.

All because of one moment. All because he’d wrapped an arm around his best friend. That was how Sledge found himself waking up in Thatcher’s bed.


End file.
